Getting Over
by Naatz
Summary: (one-shot) Harry and Snape are forced to work with and near each other. At some point, the nearness isn't forced anymore. Slash, HPSS.


**Getting Over**  
By: Naatz  
Rating: PG  
Genre: Romance  
Proofreaders: Sesshiyuki, Min and Hota.  
Spoilers: Up to the fifth book; including.  
Summary: (one-shot) Harry and Snape are forced to work with and near each other. At some point, the nearness isn't forced anymore. Slash, HP/SS.  
Disclaimer: If I thought JoKeR would write something like this in her books, I wouldn't write it at all.  
Notes: This was a challenge. Literally. So I wrote this, and all the while swearing I'll never do it again.

.

At the beginning, I couldn't decide whether I supported you, or not. The relationship between a teacher and a student is against so many morals -- adult and child, a person who influences somebody who is dependent on him, and in this case, two men. Those things are highly frowned upon. 

Only when I saw the way you had accepted each other and the way you interacted, then I decided. I would not interfere, as long as you kept it secret from others. I would let you continue, and give you my blessing, as long as you were happy.

And you _are_ happy. So I sit back and watch the show, with twinkling blue eyes.

...

It begins when I call you into my office and tell you that you are to teach Harry Occlumency again.

"No, Albus." You object. "I refuse."

I barely leave you a choice. In fact, I don't. I, very politely, inform you that you, willingly or not, are going to continue teaching Harry Occlumency.

You stand up and are utterly still, probably telling yourself to calm down and that it couldn't possibly be as bad as you make it to be. But, you reason with yourself, when it comes to _Harry Potter_, it probably is.

...

During breakfast, Harry received a letter. While it was highly unusual, it happened often enough to not raise suspicion. Only to raise eyebrows, as if saying, _'Who writes to **him**?'_

The letter was a note, written artfully and specifically clear, saying that Harry was to talk to you about his Occlumency lessons during his Potions lesson that day.

...

You see Harry entering the classroom, and his glare at your direction is palpable. So is your smirk, actually. You have decided, pointedly, to make the best out of it, and while you don't forget what he'd witnessed in the Pensieve, you will torture him as much as you possibly can. Your smirk makes Harry's glare intensify, which makes the smirk turn _smug_.

The class goes as swiftly as it possibly can. No cauldrons are melted, exploded, or irreparably damaged. A relief, with Neville no longer in the classroom. Every once in a while, you glance at Harry, and are satisfied to see his anger levels rising so spectacularly as you ignore him.

After class is over, Harry dawdles behind, and you aren't exactly sure whether he is about to flee, explode at you, or simply be quiet. You call him to your desk, so he collects his things and comes up front to face you.

"Tomorrow, Potter." You say. "Eight o'clock, in my office."

...

Harry had over twenty-four hours to decide what he was going to do. On one hand, he knew Occlumency was important to him. On the other, he couldn't stand you. He blamed you for his godfather's death, for the disillusioning of his father in his eyes. He talked with Ron about it, being purposely vague.

"Are you mental?" Ron asked him. "Being tutored by Snape again? You have to be insane to agree to that."

...

'Tomorrow' has arrived. So has 'eight o'clock'. Harry is not where you'd told him to be.

...

Once again, you are in my office. Usually, in my presence, you are nervous. At this precise moment, you are annoyed. I've invited Harry for a meeting in my office, and sent Minerva to fetch him. You wonder if he'll show me the same disrespect he's shown you, and I try to soothe your suspicions.

"He's an insolent brat."

"And a very pleasant boy." I complete easily, and therefore manage to transfer your anger from Harry to myself. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

He enters the room after Minerva does, and when he sees you he steps a couple of steps backwards, apprehensive. I beckon him to come closer with a smile, and after a moment, he does; his anger and frustration rising quickly with each step he takes.

"Harry," I say the moment Minerva excuses herself and leaves the room. "Professor Snape tells me you didn't attend your Occlumency lesson yesterday."

You watch Harry lowering his head, and assume it's from shame. Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't, but now isn't the time to speculate over such things.

"Can you tell us why, Harry?"

Silence, which doesn't surprise you, but it does surprise me. I have rarely seen Harry so unresponsive.

"We only want to help you," I try again, gently.

From some reason he snaps at this; "I don't _need_ your help!" he snarls.

You take over the conversation now. "So will you still not need our help when the Dark Lord has his wand pointed at your heart?"

"Voldemort's not going to get his wand anywhere near my heart," Harry argues, and you're surprised at his conviction at the statement. You find it fascinating.

"Then when he does, Potter, are you going to tell him that it isn't supposed to happen thar way? I find the thought itself hilarious." Perhaps you act a bit too harsh. Harry scowls at you. I remain quiet, in the shadows. I let you two play this conversation out. "In short, the only way you can avoid that kind of situation is by being trained to act when it has the possibility to happen. You have no chance to win against him if you are not properly trained."

It seems that Harry has given up for the moment. You still watch him warily, expecting him to keep fighting. You expect him to keep arguing, but he disappoints you. He doesn't.

I cough to remind you of my existence, and rise to my feet. "Excuse me, then, and I shall leave you to your studies." I smile. "Good luck, Harry, Severus."

After I leave, you warn Harry to prepare himself, but he obviously doesn't, since you so easily invade his mind, and he doesn't manage to throw you out.

...

Harry surreptitiously attended to all of your meetings, afterwards. You thought that he's decided that it was best for him to do so.

...

During one of your sessions, Harry faints. He doesn't wake up after a few moments of lying on the floor, so you ponder what to do. You cannot possibly take him to the hospital wing, since the lessons have to remain a secret. So instead, you levitate him into a chair and take reviving powder out of your personal stock, holding it under his nose until he shivers and his eyes flutter open.

For a moment, he looks as if he's about to start crying. However, he controls himself, and instead he closes his eyes and rests his head on his hands. You put the powder away silently, still looking at him from the corner of your eyes.

"Awake, Mr. Potter?" You ask at last, when he seems to have calmed down. Harry pulls himself together and nods slightly. "Good," you claim. "I don't want to add a dead student to my records. Go back to your dormitory and rest until your headache is gone."

His parting glare assures you that all is right, and even if it isn't, that very soon it's going to be.

...

Ron and Hermione were tucked in the corner of the common room when Harry came inside, his face pale.

"You all right?" they asked.

Harry nodded. "Just a headache," he explained, and added quickly, "not the scar." They visibly calmed down. "Uh, I have to lie down," he murmured, and hurried towards his bed. When he lay down on it, he promptly fell asleep, and didn't wake up until the next morning.

...

Never before have you seen someone so angry. Not before Harry, not at all. Not in the days you were a Death Eater, not in those you were in the Order, and not even when you were a spy. Harry most certainly has a large variety of emotions, but you only ever notice his angry moments. Angry at being frustrated, at his inability to learn what you try to teach, at being worthless, at his friends, at me, at you; at the entire world. He either ignores or doesn't see the fact that we must have reasons for the things we do.

You have never pretended to like the boy, because to you, he is an extension of his father. Completely Gryffindor, always with his Gryffindor friends. The similarities _are_ there. But then again, they are only similarities. Harry and James Potter are almost nothing alike.

Slowly, you begin to understand that.

...

Every time you delve into his mind, it reveals something new, some new aspect you have never imagined that existed in him. You find no Gryffindor courage; nor Gryffindor nobility. You find blind trust and infinite love to those he loves, and utmost hate to those he feels threatened by.

Little by little, you start to wonder just how come he wasn't sorted into Slytherin.

...

I hurry towards the hospital wing after I hear that he's collapsed in the middle of Defence Against the Dark Arts class, his scar bleeding. I talk with Poppy in hushed, worried voices, and she assures me that nothing serious happened to him. My breath comes more easily after I hear this, and I go back to my office, only to find you waiting for me.

"Severus," I say, genuinely surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Potter has apparently decided that the lessons I've been giving him are not something he needs, and so therefore did not see fit to come tonight."

I had forgotten that today is the day you give Harry Occlumency lessons. You're furious, rightfully so, after waiting for him to arrive for over an hour.

"I apologize," I grimace, "but Harry couldn't make it tonight."

Your tone is chill and your face is blank when you force out a response: "Pardon? And his excuse is? . . ."

"His scar bled, and he fainted in the middle of one of his classes." You have to admit; this is a reason enough to not show up to your lessons.

You ask neutrally, "And how is he now?"

"Recovering and under supervision."

"I see."

...

You stalk to the hospital wing and try to gain entrance. Poppy guards it viciously and refuses to let you in. "You can't bother him," she insists. Even your hardest glare wouldn't scare her into changing her opinion. "He's still recovering!"

"Move," you tell her. She doesn't, and you are frustrated. "I have something to discuss with Mr. Potter."

"It can certainly wait!"

"It cannot."

"Yes it can," she snaps, "and you're not going in until he's recovered. Come back in an hour." She tells you this, and you grind your teeth.

...

An hour later, you refuse to hear Poppy's pleas to give him just _one more hour_. You go straight to the bed in which Harry lies, his head propped against a pillow. His forehead is hugged tightly by white gauze, and in the waste bin, a brown-tainted cloth can be found.

"Potter," you announce your presence. He looks up, disbelief in his eyes, because what are _you _doing _here_? Being worried? Paying him a get-well-soon visit? Not likely, and he knows it. "Why did you let him in your mind?" You finally snarl, endless hours of waiting taking their toll.

No question on who 'he' is. Voldemort, of course.

Harry's fury rules over his confusion in a moment. You pity him for a second, and wonder how it feels like, to be ruled by impulses and emotions. You were hardly the destination of that temper, but Harry couldn't send it towards its proper target. "I didn't_ let_ him in, _sir_. He did it _without_ asking me to _kindly_ let him in!"

A slight crease of your brows. "You should've already managed to ward him out by now!"

"So I can't do Occlumency. I don't see why you even bother." Harry says bitterly.

"Why I bother is none of your business, Potter." And it isn't, not really. "Tomorrow evening in my office. Same hour." Since he's fine, you can allow yourself to teach him tomorrow.

...

Harry was dismissed later that night, and when he returned to his dormitory, he found himself unable to sleep. As he settled, he thought about Voldemort until the resulting fury burnt all other emotions into nothing. Without noticing, he fell into blank sleep, his mind, for once, properly guarded. Unintentionally, of course.

When morning came, he went to his classes. He was with his friends, he did his duties. Every once in a while, he let his mind wander to last night's meeting. He couldn't understand why you bothered to teach him, as you did, when you obviously didn't find it enlightening and helpful -- to either of you.

That time, when he made the decision, he didn't bother asking for Ron's opinion over the matter.

...

Wednesday evening, and again, he hasn't arrived. You decide to tell me about this at once, and plan to plot a suitable punishment for Harry. Maybe he'll find a detention with Filch pleasurable.

The lessons you are to give him are supposed to keep him protected, and help him protect himself better. In reality, despite those lessons, it seems to you that he purposely attempts to get himself killed.

No, you decide. It won't happen on _your _responsibility.

...

We're in my office once again, after luring Harry to another "supposed" meeting between student and headmaster. Once Harry arrives, I leave you to yourselves and evacuate the room.

"Why didn't you come?" you ask him.

Harry is quiet and looks at his palms.

"Answer when you're asked a question, Potter."

He doesn't want to answer, but still mumbles "I can't do it, so why bother?" ever so weakly.

You snort, and Harry looks at you with surprise before turning his face away. "Can't do it? Hardly. Potter, the potential is there, but it does nothing when you fail to develop it." The truth always does wonders; you're pleased with the flush his cheeks gain. "If you develop your Occlumency skills, I can assure you that you'll at least be able to ward the Dark Lord from your mind."

...

Dazed, Harry made his way to dinner after the conversation. You had given him a compliment -- somewhat hidden, but a compliment. He sat by his friends not really paying them any attention, only listening to snippets of the conversation.

Ginny suddenly drove her elbow into his ribs, and he choked on his food. "What?" he hissed.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Of course I am." Harry was puzzled. Why wouldn't he be? In fact, he was beyond okay. Ginny shrugged and went back to her supper.

Because, hadn't you, the mean, hateful _you_, given him a compliment? to him, whom you despised?

Harry thought he must be worth the trouble, if the complimenting had really happened.

That night, he paid special attention to empty his mind before he went to sleep, snuggled deep within his covers.

...

"Congratulations, Potter." You tell him.

He's seated on the floor, his head resting against the wall. Harry's exhausted, and why shouldn't he be? He's just thrown you out of his mind numerous times. You let your mouth curl into a smile of satisfaction; finally, teaching him _something_ had paid off. Perhaps he isn't a genius at Potions (and he isn't); nor is he in Occlumency, but he might be able to master the subject to a certain decent degree -- one day.

"Thanks," he says back, his voice hoarse. You aren't sure what he thanks you for. For congratulating him? For teaching him? For telling him the right word at the right time? It isn't clear.

It's awkward to let the words out. "You're welcome." And he is. Everything you give him, you could either give less, or not give at all. You're proud of yourself, for being the reason he's succeeded at this.

...

Harry didn't complain about not having any more Voldemort-induced dreams and visions. He was careful to guard his mind at night, and was continuously alerted during the days, in case Voldemort did try to invade his mind without a warning.

Everyone noticed how Harry walked a little faster, his shoulders lighter.

Whenever he looked at you in the Potions classroom of the N.E.W.T. level Potions lessons, his eyes no longer flashed infinite anger. Only mild resentment and respectful wariness found their way to his eyes.

...

You soon arrive to tell me that Harry no longer has dire need to be taught Occlumency, and that he's grasped the basics of the art. I invite you to have a seat, and offer you something to drink, which you refuse.

I think for a moment, and then ask you, "Do you think he might benefit from learning more Occlumency?"

You eye me as if I've spoken the most ridiculous question in the world. "Albus," you say slowly, "everyone in the world would benefit from learning more Occlumency. Potter doesn't know enough to keep him relatively out of trouble, only to ward off certain trouble that might try to find him."

"I'll ask you plainly, then." I say, all seriousness. "Will you continue to teach Harry Occlumency?"

You're torn between accepting and refusing. Harry has become a source of pride and a person you can actively try to mould, once he stops resisting you. And you know he will give up and give in, if he is given enough time; but, Harry is a challenge for you, a memento from the past you wish -- if not to forget, then repress and deny.

"Will I be able to withdraw from the commitment?" you query. I nod. You inhale deeply, and close your eyes for a moment, as if preparing yourself to do a chore you don't really want to do. "Then I accept."

...

You explain to Harry that Occlumency doesn't only involve throwing the invader _out_. It also means having the ability to keep people out _before_ they go inside.

"In short, you don't repel _me_, but everything that might be threatening."

He struggles with the concept. Impatient, you're about to snap at him to shield his mind by surrounding it by a wall that will rejects any mental probing, but understanding shines in his expression, so you don't.

Your first attack bears fruits, and you find yourself inside his mind for a moment before you are kicked out. The next attempt yields the same results. So do any of the latter ones.

"Are you even trying, Potter?" you snap after half an hour.

Harry barely keeps his footing, but he still manages to glare at you with anger and frustration you haven't seen since he'd managed to kick you out of his mind. "_Yes_," he says.

"It doesn't look like it!"

Instead of continuing to glare at you as he's done numerous times, he turns around and leaves the room, almost slamming the door behind him.

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if perhaps you should've offered to explain the concept as you've been taught.

That thought is pettily thrown away.

...

Time passed, as time tended to do. The Christmas holidays arrived, and nothing happened until then.

Your lessons with Harry did not resume immediately.

Not until Harry had to throw Voldemort from his mind.

He wouldn't have admitted it to any of us, if it didn't happen during a meal in the Great Hall. In the middle of breakfast, he suddenly let out a loud moan and felt his forehead in front of everyone present.

He didn't faint. Harry concentrated and pushed Voldemort out of his mind, and then breathed a sigh of relief.

I could see your smile.

...

I manage to meet Harry outside of Hogwarts during a walk. He nods at me, but I take hold of his shoulder and stop him. "I'd like to talk to you."

He follows me to a secluded place on the grounds. I sit on the grass, beneath a tree, and smile upwards at his face. He shuffles his feet and sits down next to me. Good.

"You've stopped your Occlumency lessons."

Harry frowns.

"I want to ask you to resume learning Occlumency, based on the attack you suffered last week."

"I don't want to," he says and picks on a strand of grass, tearing it to pieces. "Does Professor Snape have to teach it?"

I sigh. "Can you tell me how you find Professor Snape lacking?"

"I try, but it doesn't work. Then he says something awful and I get mad."

I hum. "Professor Snape isn't the best teacher in the world, true." He nods in agreement and it amuses me so I have to smile, "But Harry; he is one of the best in his fields. Have you thought about the fact that he might not know how to teach you properly?"

He looks at me with surprise, and I meet his gaze. "I, uh, never thought about it. . . ."

"Perhaps if you actually tell him what you find difficult, he might be able to help you."

We part shortly after, after a brief silence. I can only hope he's taken my suggestion to heart. Harry remains seated on the greenery, and continues to tear the strands out of the ground -- one by one.

...

You're surprised that after a Potions class he asks you to resume teaching him Occlumency. You agree. "You might actually learn something, if you managed to throw the Dark Lord out of your mind," you tell him. Your second surprise for the day is seeing him smile slightly, and your third is that you smile back at him.

They say three times is magic.

You see improvement. You see interest. He asks you a question once, demanding an answer, but not from _you_. You answer it anyhow, in your own immaculate style. He simplifies it.

"So you're saying that you have to feel like everything bounces off your mind?"

"In a little more detailed way, Potter, but yes."

Harry chews on his lip and it makes you wonder how you've never seen him as relaxed as today. He _is_ relaxed, but not totally, which only proves how stressed he's been in your company.

It saddens you, in a way. You want to see him relaxed, even while knowing that you're there.

You both have to spend so much time together; can't you at least spend it in a calm manner? You don't know how, though. You've spent too little time with people. You've spent much less of it with children.

Adolescents. Harry's not a child anymore, although he was certainly one once.

...

Harry's stubborn. Once he decides he'd learn to do this no matter what, no one can stop him. Not that you want to. It feels very good to finally be wanted to teach something you can pass on to other people.

He's still wary next to you. Never careless, but not tense.

One day, he arrives with black circles around his eyes. You raise an eyebrow and ignore it. The second time it happens, you go easy on him.

On the third time it happens, you ask, "Rough night, Potter?"

He grimaces. "Um. Not really, Professor."

"Did you go to bed late, then?"

Harry shakes his head.

You show no mercy this night. You slam into his head so forcefully that he staggers, and from the shock, he doesn't recoil back. You sort through his memories and feelings and it's so familiar to be inside his head again.

It takes him a while to understand what you're doing, and he doesn't like it. He slams his walls up and then goes through _your_ mind, a thing that didn't happen for ages, and now he's sorting through your memories and feelings and you don't _want_ him to.

You put the line here. You stop him. There's still that much difference in your strengths.

He's angry again and alert and he probably curses himself for being careless enough to let you pass through his barriers.

"Dismissed, Potter." you rasp.

He marches up to the door before you gain enough breath to say, "You might doubt it, but some part in me does care about your wellbeing."

You aren't sure if he heard you, because he walks into the corridor and shuts the door. You continue panting, and your heart thumps in your ribcage. The barriers of a student and teacher you put on yourself were broken once you admitted to caring.

...

He arrives the next time with his book-bag in hand. You decide to ignore it. Harry settles it by the door and tells you, "Sorry for bringing it with me. Um. I was in the library and forgot the time."

You nod and stand up from the chair you've been sitting in. The dark circles still surround his eyes, but you pretend not to notice.

Only when he messes up with material you know he knows, you lower your wand and sigh. "Potter, this isn't working."

He doesn't meet your eyes, because he's disappointed too. "Sorry," he mumbles.

Your chair is inviting, so you sit down and he continues standing up. "Sit down." He doesn't. "It's not going to bite."

He shuffles towards the extra chair, and plops down.

"Why is your level dropping?" you query.

"I can't concentrate," Harry replies dully.

"And why is that?"

He refuses to answer.

"Answer when you're asked a question."

"I can't sleep," he admits to the truth you've known since the first time.

"Well then," you say. "you might as well work on your other studies, if you can't focus on Occlumency, since your study material is here."

Harry's book-bag is laid against a foot of the chair, and a textbook is taken out and put on the dark table. You smirk slightly when you see it's the Potions textbook.

You read students' compositions and essays and grade them while he takes notes. You're being a little more generous than usual.

It's nice, you decide, sitting like this.

...

"I don't get it," Harry says with disgust.

You raise your head and watch him for a moment before asking, "You don't get what?"

"This," he talks generally. You catch your breath. Is your fragile peace together finally broken?

You speak a little too sharply than you plan to: "'This' what, Potter?"

"Homework," Harry clarifies.

A breath full of relief escapes, and you calm. "What about your homework?"

"I just don't get it," he repeats and glares at the book.

...

It became a habit. He came for your meetings, and you practiced his Occlumency. Halfway through the lesson, his concentration levels decreased drastically.

For some reason, he always brought his book-bag with him.

...

You watch him, now. Every chance you get, you watch him. You watch him talk with his friends, concentrating over a bubbling cauldron, and while he tries to work out the latest technique you teach him in Occlumency. However, you don't watch him while he studies. During that time, you allow yourself the luxury of working without any amount of stress.

You're peaceful. He calms you.

You want to get near him. The morals aren't the problem. You've lived in the grey for so long that you aren't afraid to break any more rules to achieve whatever it is you want.

But you don't know how to do it. You do it slowly, and awkwardly, and sometimes you get the feeling that he's laughing at you behind your back, together with his friends.

...

The Easter holidays arrive. I tell you to leave the school for Order business. You leave, not before deciding to tell Harry that you will, on the last meeting before you do.

He makes a face without realizing. His face is always so exposed and easy to read. He blurts out, "Be careful."

You make sure that you _are_ being careful. Even while you take chances, you do your best to remain alive.

The Easter holidays pass.

You're finally safe, and back at the school.

...

Harry was with Ron and Hermione during the holidays in the school. The Prophet arrived during one night, saying that the Death Eaters had caught and executed an unidentified (as of then) wizard. Even though he realized that it was one person, and that the Prophet hadn't written 'Severus Snape', he was worried for you. Actually, he was terrified for you.

His friends couldn't understand why he was so tense when Ron had told an ill-humoured joke about the Potions professor, but Harry didn't explain.

So on the night you returned, Harry sneaked out of his room and went to see if you were in your office. Luckily for him and you, you were.

...

Tired, you open the door, not sure whom you expect. The last person you expect to see is Harry. He looks at you with wide eyes that hold an emotion, which borders on panic. "Professor. . . ." he whispers. "You're all right."

"Of course I am," you say with amusement. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well," he squirms, and you're absolutely delighted to see him embarrassed, "the Prophet wrote that the Death Eaters killed someone, and, um . . ." he trails off.

Your chest either tightens or expands, you can't really tell. You almost leap and hug him until he can't breathe any more, but you restrain yourself. All you do is take a step forward and surround your arms around him, a silent expression, one you can't pronounce, clear by this touch. Two, in fact.

First is 'thank you'.

'I love you' is second.

You're not quite sure about when it happened or how. You remember hatred and anger and frustration and worrying and caring and encouraging and being awkward. Love is not on that list.

His arms hesitantly hug you back, and it's pure elation. Morals were thrown away already. Awkwardness is still there, and will remain, unless you do something about it.

You throw it away; you kiss him.

And he kisses you back, and you don't care if it develops into something more.

You're not quite sure about when love joined the list of emotions you felt for Harry, but you're now sure that you feel it.

...

The things I portrayed aren't as they exactly happened. There were more Death Eater attacks, more missions and more pain for both you and Harry than I mentioned.

Also, I had no ways to know what exactly happened between you and Harry during the time those events occurred'; all I know now is what I gathered by myself, heard from you in bits and pieces -- collected by mistake, and was told about by the walls of Hogwarts.

Not many actually believe that walls have ears and eyes. To those, I might one day tell this story and not leave out a single detail that Hogwarts has told me.

Many deaths happened after Harry's sixth year and during his seventh year. Hermione Granger had died while fighting Voldemort, but you were there to encourage Harry and cheer him up back to his usual, reluctant self.

Ron Weasley has married a Muggle girl. He has a daughter now, whose name is Hermione.

Voldemort's dead, and has been, for three and half years. Harry killed him, and I have to admit he's had the right to do it, more so than maybe anybody else.

And you? You, Severus, are with Harry Potter, and you're both happy. For four years, you've kept your relationship a secret from the world, until you stepped forward and announced that you're a couple. Now, you're a recognized couple; and an accepted one.

You might fight and argue and dislike each other for periods of time, but always, you will return to each other. You've gotten over too many things together -- and alone -- including each other, to not return.

Based on everything, I have no doubt that you will have your well-deserved happy ending.

.

**End. **


End file.
